


Whirlpool

by autumnsolstice9



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-14 16:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnsolstice9/pseuds/autumnsolstice9
Summary: If someone were to ask him about Uzushio, he would say he doesn’t remember. Iruka is generally honest: he admits when he pulls a prank, he answers all the childrens questions, and he is upfront about his brash personality. He knows some of the other nin think he’s honest to a fault, a little naive, but like any other nin there are some things he holds close to his chest and does not let anyone see. He does not tell anyone about finding his parent’s bodies, he keeps his foreign fighting skills secret, and he never opens his mouth about Uzushio.Or: exploring Iruka.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hc Iruka as filipino so I tried to work that into this!

If someone were to ask him about Uzushio, he would say he doesn’t remember. Iruka is generally honest: he admits when he pulls a prank, he answers all the childrens questions, and he is upfront about his brash personality. He knows some of the other nin think he’s honest to a fault, a little naive, but like any other nin there are some things he holds close to his chest and does not let anyone see. He does not tell anyone about finding his parent’s bodies, he keeps his foreign fighting skills secret, and he never opens his mouth about Uzushio.

If Naruto were to ask, or maybe even Tsunade, he would tell them what he remembers. The taste of salt on his lips, the quiet whoosh of a boat moving between islands, the slippery eels that gathered in pools when the tide was low. The burning of a cut along his face, the sting of ash and smoke as fire burns the trees, the ache in his legs as he and his family ran across the water, hiding in mud pits as nin came in and destroyed his home. All of it is etched into his memory, like a deep scar that he no longer notices but aches when touched.

But Uzushio, like his parents, is long gone. All he has left is chakra ill-suited to the dry forests of Konoha, recipes he knows by heart, and the scar that sits across his nose. Naruto had asked him about it once, curled up on the futon in Iruka’s after eating bowl after bowl of adobong pusit, his posture relaxed in the familiarity of his sensei’s apartment. “Was it a cool mission? I bet you beat up the nin real bad!” Naruto had enthused, hands waving around as he imitated jutsus. 

Iruka had patted his head, running his hands through the blond locks, smiling down at his practically adopted son. “No,” he said, his mind somewhere far away, “It happened when I was very young, during a battle during the war in Uzushio.” He could still taste the blood that ran down his face into his mouth, could still hear the screams of neighbors, feel the pulsating heat of the fires ruining his village.

Naruto had owlishly blinked up at him, his interest piqued. “Uzushio? What’s that?”

It made Iruka’s hand stop running through Naruto’s hair for a split second, a hollow feeling building in his chest, his heart banging like a drum. Naruto was an Uzumaki, he was supposed to know about Uzushio, know about his family, about fuinjutsu and the chains. There was supposed to be someone else who knew about his home. In a village full of leaves, Iruka had found no other whirlpools, but he had thought someone would teach Naruto about his heritage, that the small boy would know something about his roots.

It made his throat feel clogged and his pulse flutter. “Uzushio,” he said, his voice wobbling as the dam of memories threatened to give out behind him, “Is home.”

Naruto had looked up at his sensei’s face, at the scar, at the ghost of a village that resided inside his bones, and given him a hug, but did not ask anymore questions. Iruka collected himself and moved to get the turon from the kitchen counter, deciding to tell Naruto about it another day.

***

No one asks about Uzushio. Instead, they ask things he never answers. He is out at the bar with Asuma and some other jonin--Kurenai, Gai, Kakashi--when the questions start rolling in. It’s not unusual. Everyone knows Iruka, but no one knows Iruka. He is a good nin and people see what they want, whether it be a brother or a bumbling chuunin.

Asuma, as he always does when he’s slightly inebriated, teases Iruka with brotherly affection. “You should’ve seen him,” he enthuses, one hand swinging out to point in Iruka’s direction, “Couldn’t form a bushin but would run around on water. Guess the name makes sense, huh Iruka?”

Iruka laughs at Asuma, warmth blooming in his chest, knowing that his pseudo-brother means nothing by it. “I could walk on water better than you!” he says, one arm going to sling around Asuma’s shoulder, fond. Asuma shakes his head, smiling, but doesn’t deny it, sending Iruka into another fit of giggles. Kurenai, who he’s been friends with for years now and who is not-so-secretly dating Asuma, laughs along with them, Gai smiling with a twinkle in his eye and Kakashi placidly sipping his beer.

“When did you meet Iruka-sensei?” Gai asks, boisterous, glancing at both Asuma and Kurenai.

“Ah, after the tailed-fox attack. How old were you then, ‘Ruka? Nine? Ten?”

“Ten,” Iruka replied, plastering a small smile on his face to ignore the sombering mood at the mention of the attack.

“Yeah,” Asuma said, taking a puff from a cigar, “The Sandaime-” bitterness dripping off his tongue- “took a special interest in Iruka. He started coming by the house once a month and he’s been around ever since.”

Kakashi had finally taken an interest in the conversation. “The Sandaime was interested in you?” he asked, curious and disbelieving, one eye glancing over Iruka’s face as if it would give answers.

Kurenai, who was one of his first friends in Konoha, who knew he was from Uzushio, who knew why the Sandaime was so interested in a foreign boy, shot Kakashi a glance, her eyes narrowing at the copy nin, one hand across Asuma’s lap to rest on Iruka’s knee in comfort.

“I was one of the few kids orphaned. The Sandaime wanted to make sure I adjusted well after the attack,” Iruka smoothly lies. He knows shinobi like Kakashi, who will not stop until they have their answers. The copy nin searches his face, but Iruka has perfected the art of half-truths. Kurenai’s hand still rests on his knee, Asuma is blowing out puffs of smoke and subtly staring down Kakashi, ready to interfere if the copy-nin asks more about the subject, but Kakashi nods his head, believing what Iruka has told him, and just like that the tension in the room is broken. 

They continue drinking throughout the night, laughing and joking, and Iruka starts to finally feel comfortable, finally stops mentally calculating what he would need to bring with him if Konoha was to fall in war, when the copy-nin glances towards him, eye focusing on the scar on his nose, and Iruka can read the thoughts as they pass through his head.

There’s no reason for Iruka to have a scar. Any wounds received on missions are healed when the nin comes back, with no scars to show. He’s a chuunin, so any missions he goes on are typically short, so there’s no reason for his face not to have been healed by a med-nin. No one has scars unless they’re deep in the field, like Kakashi or Ibiki. There’s no possible explanation besides that- and Iruka knows that being far behind enemy lines doesn’t fit what people know about him.

“The scar,” Kakashi finally asks, gaze sharp, “Seems like it has a good story. How did you get it?”

Kurenai, sweet Kurenai who knows the difference between Iruka’s truths and lies, sends a smile like knives towards Kakashi. “Don’t be rude,” she says, voice sugar sweet with iron underneath.

Kakashi looks at her, back at Iruka, and settles back into his seat, one hand waving her off. “I’m not trying to be rude, just making conversation. So, sensei, what’s the story?”

It’s become like a game to Iruka, these half-truths. If someone were to put all his stories together they would a fulfilled life that resembles his, but one fit into Konoha’s boxes. Iruka smiles at Kakashi, trying to seem like he’s unbothered by the question, and begins a new story. “My house caught fire when I was younger,” he simpers, casting his eyes low, “One of the beams fell and crashed into a cabinet. Broken glass fell and well, you know me, how clumsy I get. Some of the glass cut my face, and I’ve had the scar ever since.”

It’s close enough to the truth, and in the corner of his eyes he can almost see the nin who lit up his house, his neighborhood, his country. He can still feel the grip of a foreign nin grabbing his arm, kunai slashing out towards his face, can still taste the metallic blood in his mouth, can still smell the ash and the salt and sulfur. For a moment he is back in Uzushio, screaming as the enemy gets ready to do more than scar him, before his grandmother threw chains around the enemies body and put a seal on his chest, her face grim and stern and prepared as all the moisture leaked out of the nins body, leaving behind a husk of a man. She had grabbed Iruka and ran, her long red hair almost blending in with the flames, dark skin made darker with ash.

Her blood was as red as her hair when a kunai hit her in the back, her ocean blue eyes as deep as the fishermen described trenches, reflecting fire and things incomprehensible to those who have not lived at sea. “ _Tumakbo ka palayo,_ ” she whispered into Iruka’s hair, setting him onto the ground, her chains ready in hand. “ _Ang tubig ay magliligtas sa iyo. Mahal kita, aking alon._ ”

He ran like she said, found the water that would save him, and the wave inside him became a whirlpool even as Uzushio crumbled. 

It is only a moment of memories, but when he snaps out of it, Kakashi is still staring at him, gaze intense, Asuma and Gai chattering away about some sort of taijutsu. “There was a lot I loved in that house,” he says, all smiles and pretty boy chuunin.

“Did they rebuild it?” Kakashi asks, brow furrowed. Konoha always looked out for their own.

“Eventually, but it took a long time and was never really the same.” Iruka excuses himself from the table, an apologetic smile towards Asuma for cutting their time together short, a kiss on the forehead for Kurenai, and he returns to his apartment that isn’t quite home and never will be.

***

He first met Tsunade when she summoned him to her office.

“Umino,” she said, glancing up at him the moment he walked into her office, “I’ve come across some files and I’ve got some questions. You met with the Sandaime once a month every month since the Kyuubi attack. What I want to know is: why?”

“He was worried I would betray Konoha,” Iruka answers truthfully. He cannot lie to Tsunade; she will learn the truth one way or another. The elders have probably already whispered into her ears, telling her to watch out for that Umino boy, no one knows where his loyalties lie, who knows what jutsu he possesses?

Tsunade’s gaze could cut glass. “Why would he worry about that?” she asks, her gaze as fierce as his grandmother’s once was.

“I’m a foreigner,” Iruka says with a bitterness twisting his lips, “My family came here from Uzushio-” Tsunade’s face flickers at this, becomes more open, more sympathetic-“and he was worried that when my family died in the Kyuubi attack, I would sell out or betray Konoha.”

“Why would you do that?”

A shrug. “I was an outsider. My parents stayed shinobi because it was all they knew how to do here. They had to give back to Konoha or else what would happen to me? It was part of our deal to be allowed entry here. We have to contribute to Konoha. Sandaime was making sure I kept up my end of the bargain.”

Tsunade stared at him, her eyes flickering across his body, cataloguing her arsenal. “An Uzushio nin in Konoha,” she smirks, a joke playing out between two Uzumaki grandchildren, “The whirlpool in the land of fire. Not very well-suited to your jutsu, is it?”

At this, Iruka smiles. “No, Hokage-sama, it is not.”

“Do you have the chains?”

“No, Hokage-sama.”

“The seals?”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.”

She lets out a low whistle. “No wonder they were so worried about you. You could tear this village to the ground.”

“You’re the grandchild of Mito Uzumaki, Hokage-sama, you could as well.”

“Ah yes, I was always amazed by _Lola_ ’s skill. So was my grandfather. I’m glad someone else appreciates her. Did you ever meet her?”

“No, but I wanted to,” Iruka answers, genuine. “She was legendary in the village. _Prinsesa_ Mito, who left her village to help bring peace to a wild land. All the children grew up learning about her sacrifice and her skill. My _Lola_ was also an Uzumaki, a cousin of _Prinsesa_ Mito. She was so proud of her cousin and would tell me stories about everything the _prinsesa_ did in Uzushio.”

Tsunade smiles, slightly lopsided and fond. “ _Lola_ was a strong woman. The Leaf often forgets that. I’m glad someone remembers. It’s also nice to find family, _pinsan_ , though you have none of the Uzumaki looks.”

Iruka could feel himself brighten at her words. “Neither do you, _ate_.”

Tsunade barked out a laugh. “I could get used to being called that instead of this Hokage crap. Iruka, I think we’re going to get along very well. The monthly meetings will end. You have served your village loyally, and it is high time we trust you.”

A wave seemed to rush over Iruka, carry away all the anxiety that came with the Hokage meetings. “Thank you, ate.”

He began to leave the room when her voice called back to him. “Iruka, does Naruto know about Uzushio? About any of it?”

Loneliness bubbled into his gut. “No, _ate_ , he doesn’t. We’re the only ones who really know about Uzushio.”

“The chains?”

“I don’t know if he has those.”

He turned back to see her face, and in it he saw Uzushio crumbling and being left to be taken by the tide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumakbo ka palayo= run away
> 
> Ang tubig ay magliligtas sa iyo. Mahal kita, aking alon= Water will save you. I love you, my wave
> 
> Lola= grandmother
> 
> prinsesa= princess
> 
> pinsan= cousin
> 
> ate= big sister


	2. Chapter 2

He was the one who handed Naruto his headband, and Iruka feels a strange mixture of pride and guilt. Another Uzumaki being sent off to war, another set of seals used as ammo in a war that isn’t theirs. He knows that Minato and Kushina would be proud of Naruto, that they would want their son to give back to their home of Konoha, but Iruka is full of fear.

He can see the strength Naruto possesses, knows that his son will become one of the strongest, and it makes him scared. Uzushio was killed because it was too strong- what will happen to his son?

These thoughts swirl in his head as he wakes up in the hospital room, his skin tight from the fuma shuriken. Kurenai, Anko, and Asuma are in the room with him, Anko bunched uncomfortably into a chair while Kurenai rests her head on Asuma’s shoulder. Naruto is perched at the end of the bed, a bright orange ball that shifts as Iruka comes back to consciousness.

“‘Ruka!” Naruto shouts, wrapping Iruka’s legs in a hug. “I was so worried about you!” He continues chattering away, his words in the tongue of Uzushio, which Iruka taught him after years of the boy practically living with him. They speak their language at home, when they’re somewhere comfortable, Iruka unafraid to speak his native tongue.

Asuma stirs awake and Naruto glances to the side, slipping back into the language of Konoha. “I tried to find you some turon to buy but none of the markets have it! Can you believe that! They don’t have sinigang either! Can you believe that!”

Iruka gives him a small, soft smile, one reserved just for him. “I believe it. When I get out of here I’ll make you a big bowl of it, how about that?”

Naruto cheers, a loud whoop as he practically jumps to the ceiling. Kurenai and Anko finally wake at this, contentedly watching the scene. “Ah! Sensei! I have to go now! Kakashi-sensei is training us today, even though he’ll probably be late like always… Stupid Kaka-sensei. I’ll be back to visit soon!”

He reached over, gently hugging Iruka, mindful of the bandages around his back. “ _Natakot ako, tatay._ ”

Iruka held him tight, tears pricking his vision. “ _Alam ko. Patawad. Natutuwa akong ikaw ay ligtas._ ” He gave a squeeze, and then released the boy, who ran out the door with a wave of his hand and a shout to return soon.

Iruka kept staring at the door until Asuma let out a sigh, Anko began to fidget, and Kurenai grabbed his hand. “He’ll be okay,” she says, taking his chin and forcing him to stare at her. “He’s strong.”

And that’s exactly what Iruka is worried about.

***

When he was young and had just joined his class, Iruka had taken Naruto to the memorial stone. “This is where we honor those who fought for Konoha,” he told him, “Somewhere on here are the names of your parents.”

“Wow,” Naruto had breathed out. “My parents.” His tiny hands had reverently traced over the names listed on the stone, fingertip following each letter. “Where are your parents on here, ‘Ruka?”

A lump had lodged in his throat. “They’re not,” he said, the picture of composure save for the twitch of his fingers from where they are clenched in his pockets.

“Didn’t they fight for Konoha?”

“Yes, they did.”

Naruto gave a frown. “Then they deserve to be on here.”

Iruka sighed. “It’s… complicated, Naruto.”

“Are they buried somewhere nearby? We should visit them!” Naruto had said, all bright smiles and hope.

“They’re not buried, Naruto.”

“Where are they?”

It was minutes later when they arrived at Iruka’s apartment and he brought him to the bookshelf. Two urns sat between piles of scrolls, light blue with red swirls Iruka himself had painted on. “This is where they are,” Iruka said, tiredness weaving its way into his bones.

“Why don’t you put their ash somewhere?”

“They need to be buried at sea. I haven’t had the chance to go to the ocean in a very long time.” He had asked, had begged the Sandaime, but was refused at every turn. He knew why: they couldn’t have the little orphan Uzushio run off to sea, where he would be at his strongest, where he might meet up with other displaced Uzushio people and become a threat. He had to stay put, stay safe where Konoha spies could see him. He kept asking, and asking, and asking, and then finally he stopped, and his parents became decoration on a bookshelf.

Naruto stared up at the urns, his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand, ‘Ruka. Why can’t _Lolo_ and _Lola_ be on the memorial stone? Why can’t they be buried at sea?”

“They’re scared I won’t come back,” Iruka said, barely a whisper.

“Why would they think that?”

He doesn’t have an answer. Sometimes he thinks he wouldn’t. Sometimes he thinks Naruto is the only thing keeping him in the village. Him, and the fact he wouldn’t want to dishonor his parents.

Something like a sob built in his throat. “I haven’t seen the sea in 12 years,” he choked out, more to himself than anything. “12 years. These _kapre_ will not let me go.”

“I’ll talk to the _kapre_ , ‘Ruka. Then maybe we can see the ocean,” Naruto said, trying to cheer him up. 

But Iruka knows better. These _kapre_ will never let him or Naruto go. No, they’ll always have to come back.

***

The night his _Lola_ sacrificed herself, Iruka gained his first taste of what it meant to be from the village of whirlpools. He went to the water, like his _Lola_ told him to do, running as fast as he could and trying to find his parents. Enemy nin had caught up to him, cornering him like animal, their feet carrying them across the water towards where he stood.

He was going to be surrounded. He could feel his barely there chakra grow strong, a monsoon in his body, scared and frightened as blood ran down his face, mixing with tears he cried for his _Lola_. He didn’t know if he had the chains, didn’t know if he could use the chains, didn’t know what to do besides stand there with a sharpened kunai his chubby hand had grabbed off the ground on his run to water.

He didn’t know what to do. The enemy grew closer, and Iruka felt himself rage like a tidal wave, Uzumaki fierceness growing strong inside him. “ _Malunod_ ,” he said, following instinct like the water told him to, letting the tidal wave inside him release. Whirlpools began to open under the enemies feet, and they began to sink into the ocean, the water seeping into their lungs and carrying them further into its depth. 

That was how his parents found him, and it wasn’t until many days later after they had run and run that they explained to him what it meant to be from Uzushio. “Our words are seals,” his mother said. “We’re descended from the Uzumaki, we have no need for paper and brushes. We know how to form seals with our tongues.”

It was a secret known only to those in Uzushio, their very language a seal if one knew how to use it right. It was a secret Iruka never mentioned to anyone and would never let the village see. If he always came back from missions unscathed, then let them think he was just a good shinobi.

Power had gotten Uzushio killed. Iruka would not let it kill his family.

Iruka learned everything he could while his family made the perilous journey to Konoha. He learned jutsu from his father, from his mother, and though he tried, he could not summon the chains. He wondered if there was anyone left in the world who could. 

***

Naruto came back from the land of waves loudly, as expected. He told Iruka about Zabuza, he cried about Haku, and he raged about Gato. In the acceptance of their home, he told Iruka about the small village they had stayed at, his words tripping over the language of Uzushio in his excitement. “They had pansit! And halo halo! But it wasn’t as good as yours, ‘Ruka. And they asked me if my parents were from Uzushio which is weird, right? And I told them no, my parents are from Konoha, believe it! But my _tatay_ has talked about Uzushio before. And they were all impressed like ‘wow your _tatay_ is from Uzushio?’ and I was like ‘yeah what about it? What’s the big deal?’ and then Kakashi-sensei asked about it!”

“He did?” Iruka asked, choking on the ramen he had made.

“Yeah! Then he asked a bunch of questions about you! He asked about your scar and your jutsu and your seals and I told him to stop being so weird!”

Iruka gave Naruto a brittle smile and kept eating, letting the boy talk himself out.

“Naruto, did you know I’m part Uzumaki? My grandmother was an Uzumaki. The cousin of Tsunade-sama’s grandmother, actually. These things mean something. We were a clan once, in Uzushio. Isn’t that nice?”

Naruto looked up from his bowl, a noodle dangling out of his mouth. “Yeah, _tatay_ , I like that. Me, you, and baa-chan can all be one big family. Do you think she’d like some halo halo? Can we make her some?”

“Of course,” Iruka beamed.

“Hey, _tatay_ , let’s be a clan here, too! We don’t need to be in Uzushio to be a clan, we’re clan Uzumaki all right here!”

And Iruka knows he’s right, but in Uzushio being Uzumaki meant something. Here, the name tastes acidic on his tongue. He misses his _Lola_. He misses his pride. He misses the sea.

***

“Did the sea ever speak to you, Naruto?” Iruka asks one day as they sit in Tsunade’s office, the three of them devouring some halo halo Iruka made earlier that day. These are their ‘clan days’, where Naruto drags his grandmother and his father together for family time. 

Within these walls, Iruka is free to speak his native tongue, and though Tsunade does not speak the language she understands, which is more than enough. 

Naruto hums over his spoon. “No, I don’t think so. Though I thought a tree talked to me once, but Sakura said I was crazy. I told her she was wrong and that is was a _kapre_ trying to give us wrong directions, but she said I was making stuff up and wouldn’t listen!”

Disappointment filled Iruka at the thought of the sea being silent. Who would listen to it now that Uzushio was dead? “You should be careful with the _kapre_ , Naruto. One day they might claim you as one of theirs and then ate and I will have to beg for you back.”

Naruto frowned and kept chewing on his halo halo, consumed with his thoughts. “Did the sea ever speak to you, _ate_?”

Tsunade shook her head. “Not that I can recall, though _Lola_ did always tell me to listen for it. What should I do if I hear the sea, Iruka?”

He thought back to the day the sea told him how to survive. “Pay attention to what it has to say.”

Tsunade flashed a smile, amused, but Naruto stared at him with those big, blue, Uzumaki eyes, and took in every word. 

“ _Tatay_ , what has the sea told you?”

The last time he touched the sea, he was still young. A refugee from Uzushio. His family had been in a small rowboat for days, and they had decided to rinse off in the salty sea before they began their journey on land. As Iruka had gone to leave the water, the sea spoke out to him, one last time. _“Remember your roots,”_ it had whispered, and Iruka had listened and sworn never to forget.

“It told me what it means to be Uzumaki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> natakot ako= I was scared  
> tatay= dad  
> Alam ko. Patawad. Natutuwa akong ikaw ay ligtas= I know. I'm sorry. I'm glad you're safe.   
> malunod= drown


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes he has nightmares. There is Orochimaru- his sensei- taking him, Anko, and Ibiki along for training. They are in a field, listening as their sensei hisses out directions, telling them how to make a genjutsu.

Anko and Ibiki succeed, as usual, and Iruka struggles. He knows he can do it, had practiced with his mother and father before they died, but those were Uzushio techniques. He wants to impress sensei, but he can taste the ash of Uzushio, so he struggles with Konoha techniques, doing his best to mold his chakra in with the dry forest he’s trapped in.

Orochimaru’s eyes flicker to him, piercing like a sword, sighing as Iruka once again messes up his genjutsu. Iruka is acutely aware of his sensei tilting his head, gaze assessing, and then the world feels hazy. He can feel Orochimaru putting a genjutsu over him, his sensei materializing in front of him. “Now, Iruka,” he hisses, “Let’s figure out why you’re having such trouble, hm? What’s causing this block?”

He can feel the world warp, Orochimaru’s gaze intense as he stares at Iruka, seemingly looking into him. It was like strings are being pulled in his head, and panic begins to bubble inside Iruka. He doesn’t want his sensei to see his memories, not the Kyuubi attack, not Uzushio, not any of it.

He doesn’t want this.

“ _Ihinto,_ ” he whispers, feeling his chakra surge. Orochimaru goes slack in his vision, and the genjutsu dissipates, Anko and Ibiki staring at him in the field, his sensei’s gaze thoughtful.

“How did you do that?” he asks, and Iruka suddenly has bile in his throat, can hear the whoosh of water in his ears, and is acutely aware of the unnaturalness of his sensei.

“I don’t know,” he lies, heart racing, Orochimaru’s eyes narrowing at him, cold and analytical.

When Iruka wakes from his nightmare, he can still feel Orochimaru’s eyes on him.

***

Iruka would die for Konoha. He would die for it’s children, his students, for the mothers and fathers and the sisters and brothers out there that deserve a chance to live.

But he can’t say he loves Konoha. He knows what ninja villages do, knows that they invade the powerful out of fear, that they thrive off of war.

Some part of him is angry, furious even, at the rest of the world for condemning Uzushio. He hates seeing the swirl on Konoha clothing, as if they were every really friends with his village. Mito sacrificed for this village, and they did nothing in return. This is why, when Sasuke defects, he does not question why.

***

Naruto starts bringing Jiraiya out to their ‘clan gatherings’, the loud man ogling Tsunade every chance he gets and barely noticing Iruka.

“I’m a seals master! Almost as good as any man in Uzushio was!” the man crows, posing with one arm out like Naruto does sometimes in the mirror.

Naruto bounces around the mans feet. “Did you know Iruka is good at seals, too? He’s really good! So whoosh and blam and wow!”

Jiraiya eyes him. “Oh yeah? I’d like to see what the kid can do!”

Tsunade is eagerly watching the discussion, a twinkle in her eyes. Iruka blandly regards the man, who he has little to no respect for, and goes back to sipping his tea. “No thanks,” he says, enjoying how Jiraiya’s nose flares. 

“I know it might be embarrassing,” Jiraiya preens, “but don’t worry! I know you’re just a chuunin, I don’t expect much. I’m a fuinjutsu master maybe I can give you some pointers!”

“Oh, I’m a fuinjutsu master,” Iruka calmly replies, “I’m good as I am.”

Jiraiya eyes him for a moment, as analytical as his sensei once was, then gives a hearty laugh. “This one is funny, Tsunade! Where did you find him?”

Tsunade has a serene smile on her face, as if she is in a world of her own, though her gaze remains sharp. Slightly predatory. She does not answer Jiraiya’s question, and Iruka can feel sweat beginning to bead on his palms. Tsunade may be Uzumaki, but she is not from Uzushio, and Iruka is still the outsider. She is Konoha, and he is a weapon. What does she know about Uzumaki seals? What does she know about Uzushio? What does she know about him, what he can do?

She had asked him once if he had the seals and he had wanted to believe that she was on his side, so he said yes. But she is Konoha-grown, Senju-raised, and he is suddenly aware of the divide between them. Does she know about forming seals with her words, or only of the paper and ink?

He wants to trust Tsunade the way he couldn’t trust Hiruzen, but her gaze is like all the other sannin: assessing. He has been a fool. Whatever she asks him to do, he will have to agree to. She is the Hokage, and he is from Uzushio, and he knows what happens when people with power don’t bend to the will of a ninja village.

He has been a fool to trust her so blindly, so willing to disregard her ties to Konoha in favor of focusing on her Uzumaki-shaped eyes. He reaches out and grabs Naruto’s hand, and worries and worries, even as he calmly sips his tea and hides his thoughts. His son is going to be Konoha-raised and Uzushio blood, honed into the perfect weapon the village wants. He has the bijuu inside him, something this village needed Uzumaki for, and it all sinks into Iruka at once. The world needs Uzumaki, needs seals, and he will never be allowed to stray from his place in the village.

Tsunade as Hokage or not.

***

He is at the bar with Anko and Kurenai, laughing over something Kurenai’s genin team did during training, when Asuma, Gai, and Kakashi show up. They make room for the newcomers, chatting amicably. 

“Kurenai,” Iruka groans, leaning towards her dramatically, “You need to come back to the academy. We need you. Who else is going to save me from the kids?”

A hand comes out to playfully swat at him. “They can’t be that bad, Iruka,” Kurenai says, smiling, “You had to deal with Naruto’s class, afterall.”

He lifts a hand up, nodding his head gravely. “Yes, yes, I did have Naruto’s class and yes, they were a bunch of little hellions. But you haven’t met Konohamaru and his little gang of followers.”

Asuma bursts into laughter. “You’re stuck with Konohamaru? Oh good luck, Iruka.”

“Should we start planning his funeral now?” Anko asks, eyes gleaming like knives.

“Yes,” Iruka says, “These kids are going to kill me. Some of them have never held a kunai before!”

“‘Ruka, they’re seven,” Asuma says. “Not everyone is a kunai expert the day they roll into the academy.”

“They should be,” Iruka huffs out, false seriousness, smiling brightly afterwards, letting Anko ruffle his hair and mess up his ponytail. He takes another sip of his drink, briefly wondering how much alcohol Kurenai had put in it, when a voice interrupts his thoughts.

“How old were you when you first used a kunai?” Kakashi asks, mask covering any emotion Iruka could hope to discern.

He takes a moment to pause, trying to remember when attacks in Uzushio first started. “Three years old, I think? Around then.”

Kakashi nods, accepting, but Gai is staring at him, concerned. “Your parents let you use a kunai when you were three years old?”

Iruka looks at him, eyebrows knit together. “Well, yeah. You know how it was back then.”

Apparently they don’t, because even Kakashi, the ninja-genius, looks confused at this. “What was it like?” he asks, quieter than Iruka would have expected.

Iruka looks down at the bar, his eyes following the warp of the wood as he thought over his answer. Shrugging his shoulders, he looked at the copy-nin. “Quiet some days, loud the others. I spent a lot of time with my grandmother, training.”

“But you were three years old,” Gai repeats, emphasis on every word.

He smiles, appeasing, as if to say “well, what can be done about it?”. “My grandmother wanted me to be prepared for anything that could happen,” he says, sliding over to make room for Ibiki to sit next to him once he sees the man arrive.

Kakashi is staring at him, and Iruka can see the gears turning in his head. “Like the destruction of Uzushio?” he asks, and before Ibiki even sits down, Anko reaches across the table and punches Kakashi in the face, knocking the man back about five feet.

“Don’t be rude, idiot,” Anko sneers at the man, glaring as Kakashi stands back up and rubs his cheek.

Asuma is laughing into his cup, Kurenai is calmly sipping her wine, Ibiki is ignoring the situation entirely, and Gai’s eyebrows are raised to his hairline. Iruka himself sits placidly. He doesn’t know the copy-nin like the others do, has no attachment to the Hatake legacy or the jonin himself. He doesn’t like that the man keeps asking questions about him and Uzushio, whether it be to Naruto or directly to himself.

So he doesn’t answer Kakashi’s question, instead leaning in to talk to Anko and Ibiki about news he heard of their sensei, and when he feels Kakashi staring at his scar throughout the night, he ignores it.

***

He had met Kushina once. He had bumped into her at the market about a year after he had arrived in Konoha, trying to find his parents from where he lost them in the crowd. “ _Patawad!_ ” he had said, falling back onto his native language in his embarrassment. The language of Konoha still sat uncomfortably on his tongue, and he struggled to communicate with those outside of his family. 

“ _Okay lang!_ ” she had replied with ease, smiling at him with a hand raised. He thinks she must not have noticed herself slip into his language because he could watch as confusion and then shock overtook her features.

She had stared at him, long and thoughtful, her mouth forming a tiny “o”. He had shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, but did not move. She was the first person he had run into who he was certain he could communicate with. She kept staring, and, after looking at the ground for a minute, he began to stare back.

Uzumaki red hair was swaying slightly in the wind, her blue eyes wide like his nanay’s whenever she listened to orders from the men in scary masks. He knew those features, like he knew her language. “ _Prinsesa_ Mito?” he asked, excited to meet the woman of legend. His parents had told him not to talk to strangers, that they were dangerous and that he should speak the local language around people he didn’t know, but he was so caught up in the familiarity of her gaze. 

The woman gave a little laugh. “ _Hindi, hindi, ang pangalan ko ay Kushina,_ ” she said, crouching down so she was at eye level with him. “ _Ano ang iyong pangalan?_ ” 

“Iruka!” he said with a smile, reaching out to hold the hand she held out to him. Her gaze was caught on the scar across his nose for a fraction of a second, and he could feel a blush form on his face. “ _Nawala ko ang aking mga magulang,_ ” he told her. 

She smiled, took his hand, and began to lead him through the busy streets, searching for his parents. They eventually found his father, who was frantically looking over people’s heads, his chakra on edge. 

“ _Tatay!_ ” Iruka shouted, letting go of Kushina’s hand to run and hug his father’s leg. 

His father picked him up and held him close, burying his face in Iruka’s long hair, his breath shaky. Iruka let go of him and ran back to Kushina, pulling her towards his father. _“Ito ay Kushina! Siya ay isang Uzumaki!_ ” 

Kushina waved, and his father pulled her in for a brief hug. “Thank you,” he said, accent thick, his words carefully picked, “for helping my son. Please, let me repay you. Come over for dinner.”

And she did, never once mentioning their shoebox house or the few possessions inside. She did not mention that the toys Iruka had were nothing more than sticks, she did not mention the way her father stiffened when he heard the door click open as Iruka’s mother walked inside, and she did not mention the deep lines in his parents faces.

Instead, she told them the meal was delicious, reminding her of home, she asked how they were adjusting, and she gave Iruka a gentle, soft hug, her hands shaking as she did so. When she turned to leave, Iruka raced forward, his hand outstretched. “ _Mamulaklak_ ,” he said, grinning as a jasmine flower bloomed into it, gently handing it over to Kushina. 

Kushina did not mention the way his parents paled at the display, fear settling into them like a familiar blanket as Iruka showed the world a piece of Uzushio. Iruka, still a child, still so young, still scarred, smiled at her and told her to come back soon. She promised she would, and Iruka will never forget the way her voice cracked and tears built in her eyes.

A year later, the Kyuubi attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ihinto= stop  
> Patawad= sorry  
> Okay lang!= it's okay  
> Hindi, hindi, ang pangalan ko ay Kushina= No, no, my name is Kushina  
> Ano ang iyong pangalan?= what's your name?  
> Nawala ko ang aking mga magulang= I lost my parents  
> Ito ay Kushina! Siya ay isang Uzumaki!= this is Kushina! She's an Uzumaki!  
> Mamulaklak= blossom


	4. Chapter 4

Kakashi eventually asks him about Uzushio. Naruto has been gone for months now, travelling with Jiraiya, when the copy-nin shows up at his apartment.

“What was Uzushio like?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Iruka replies, and shuts the door on his face.

***

He comes again. “What was Uzushio like?”

“Why does it matter?” Iruka asks.

“I’m curious,” Kakashi shrugs.

Iruka sighs and, once again, closes the door.

***

“What was Uzushio like?” Kakashi asks, handing him a letter Naruto wrote.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Who would I tell?”

And that’s the problem. He wouldn’t tell, but he would use the secrets of Iruka’s home for his own little game of politics and subterfuge.

Iruka shuts the door.

***

“What was Uzushio like?”

“It was beautiful. There’s nothing like the sunrise on the sea. My family lived towards the middle of the mountain, so we were safe from floods, but you can smell the sea everywhere you go. There was a shrine at the top of the mountain, and my _Lola_ would take me there every festival.”

“Who was the shrine for?” Naruto asks.

“I can’t remember,” Iruka says. “I think it was for some god of the sea. There were lots of little shrines all around the mountains. I remember the one by my house was for the guardian of the mountains.”

Naruto stretches his legs out on the couch, pushing his feet onto Iruka’s lap. He’s gotten so tall, it makes Iruka’s chest clench. “Do you believe in spirits and gods like that?”

He thinks about praying to Dumakulem when the war started picking up. _Please, keep my home safe. Please, keep my family safe. Please, please, please, keep Uzushio safe._

Yet Uzushio had crumbled into the sea, the mountains had been turned into ash and blood. He remembers being bitter, angry at the gods, wondering how they could have let all the violence happen.

He also remembers praying to Dumakulem’s wife, Anagolay, the goddess of lost things. He and his parents were lost things, floating in a rickety boat towards the unknown. _Let us be found,_ he had begged, _Let us no longer be lost._ Days later, they had reached shore.

Naruto is staring at him, whiskered face still carrying some chubbiness from youth, and Iruka contemplates. “Yes,” he finally answers, “I think I do. But,” he says when he notices Naruto beginning to ask what is undoubtedly another ten questions, “it was hard. It’s hard to believe that sometimes people overpower gods. Sometimes we blame the gods for what happens, but even gods make mistakes. Sometimes we have to admit that bad things happen because of bad people, not because the gods wanted it that way.”

“Gods can’t make mistakes!” Naruto protested. “They’re gods. If gods make mistakes then what’s the difference between me and them?”

“I don’t know,” Iruka sighed, suddenly weary, “I don’t know.”

“ _Tatay,_ ” Naruto began, chewing on his lip, “What happened to Uzushio?”

Behind his eyelids, Iruka could see his grandmother’s chains whipping out, could feel the power of the waves beneath his feet, could see inky, distorted faces creep in and out of his vision. For a second, it was too much to think about, and then his head went silent, the tide carrying away everything that was paining him.

“It’s a long story,” he said, watching as Naruto’s face fell. “That means we need snacks and some blankets, doesn’t it?”

Naruto beamed at him, and they began to gather blankets and food, curling in on the couch and preparing for the story ahead.

***

“What was Uzushio like?”

Orochimaru stares at him, eyes sharp and aware.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Iruka answers, shaken by the question.

“Oh, come now, Iruka. I’m your sensei, of course I know.” There’s something about his voice that leaves Iruka feeling skinned, open and exposed. He’s suddenly aware of the darkness of his skin, the scar on his nose, the few strands of red in his hair.

“I don’t remember Uzushio,” he lies, hoping it is convincing.

Orochimaru quirks an eyebrow at him, tilting his head. “Oh really? No techniques? Nothing? Your parents didn’t teach you anything?”

“No,” he says, hoping he isn’t too quick in his answer. “No, I was very young when it all happened. I don’t remember much. My parents wanted me to learn Konoha techniques. They said there was no point in learning them when there’s no water around here.”

His sensei licks his lips, his fingers tapping his sides. “Interesting,” he murmurs. Iruka is just a genin, not even at his first chuunin exam, and he is acutely aware that he will not win in a fight against his sensei.

Orochimaru starts to walk towards him, nonchalant, elegant. It makes Iruka’s breath catch in his throat, his legs already getting ready to run, but then he hears Anko’s excited shout in the distance, begging for sensei’s attention towards her new jutsu. His sensei stares at him for just a moment more, the air filled with tension, and then he is turning towards Anko, telling her “yes, yes, Anko-chan, I’ll be right there”.

Ibiki is by Iruka’s side minutes later. He doesn’t say anything, just watches Orochimaru watch Anko, his back straight and firm as he stands next to Iruka.

“Yeah,” Iruka says, nervous, “I don’t trust him either.”

“He’s one of the sannin,” Ibiki gruffly replies.

“I know,” Iruka answers. They’re a couple of genin, and he’s a sannin. What can they do about it when there is no proof?

When Anko and their sensei disappear, Iruka and Ibiki are questioned by ANBU and the Hokage. Hiruzen’s gaze is heavy on Ibiki, but it is downright penetrating on Iruka. He can read it all in there: _he should have taken you, not one of ours. Did you help him? Are you a traitor?_

But what the Hokage says is, “I’m glad the two of your are safe,” even though he brought Iruka in for an extra hour of questioning before Ibiki was brought in. 

When they leave the Hokage tower, Ibiki is still standing strong next to him even though Iruka’s heart rattles. They are reaching the crossroads where they part, Iruka heading right towards the orphanage, Ibiki left towards his home, when Iruka feels someone grab his shoulder.

Adrenaline bursts into his veins as he prepares to face off the attacker, but it is just Ibiki. “I trust you, Iruka,” he says, solemn and firm.

The Hokage might not trust him, the council may find him suspicious, and the village may not be his home, but Ibiki--his teammate, his quiet friend--trusts him, and, for a moment, the trees of Konoha feel familiar.

***

“What was Uzushio like?”

Asuma is on the rooftop of the orphanage with Iruka, a container of ice cream split between them. Iruka isn’t sure when they became friends, whether it was due to Kurenai or due to the watchful gaze Hiruzen keeps on Iruka, but somehow it works.

“How did you know?” Iruka asks, panic building in his chest. It was meant to be secret. People feared Uzushio. His parents told him to keep it quiet, keep it to himself, to never let the people learn his history.

“I was wondering why my dad kept tabs on you,” Asuma shrugs, “And I may have pulled some strings to look in your file.”

“Have you told anyone?” Iruka asks, voice rushed in his panic.

“No,” he frowns, “I haven’t told anyone.”

An audible sigh of relief. “Good, don’t.”

Asuma brings a cigarette to his lips, even though Iruka is sure he is too young to be smoking, and lights it before letting it dangle in his mouth. The question still dangles in the air, but Iruka does not answer and Asuma does not push, and they sit on the rooftop, content to eat ice cream and watch the stars.

***

“What was Uzushio like?”

The little girl down the street asks him after they are done playing tag. Iruka takes a moment to think her words over, his control over her language poor even though he has lived in Konoha for months now. Kurenai is his first friend in Konoha. They met when passing each other down the street- the girl had enthusiastically waved, and Iruka had waved back. When she tried to talk to him that first time, he had understood not even half of what she said. Instead of leaving him, like some of the kids at the park had, she had slowed down her speech, using her hands to point things out, explaining with her hands the game of tag.

He had loved it.

He was slowly growing accustomed to the language of Konoha, but he was best at it when he was with Kurenai or his parents, whose voices he knew. 

Iruka thinks about that Kurenai has asked, and he tries to find the words for whirlpool, and for mountain, and for boat, but those words aren’t used around Konoha so he doesn’t know how to tell her. He isn’t sure he should tell her, but she is his best friend, and she tried to be his friend when no one else would.

“A lot of trees,” he decides on, “Uzushio has a lot of trees. And water like a circle, and rock that goes above and above.”

Kurenai sagely nods, as if she understands every word he has said, handing him a stick. “Can you draw it for me?”

So he does, into the dirt, mapping out what he remembers of Uzushio. It comes out poorly, the dirt smeared in some places, some lines too thick, others too deep, and he is strangely embarrassed. Kurenai looks at it and gleefully claps. “It’s beautiful!” she says.

They are leaning against the tree, his mother in the distance watching over them, and Iruka is the happiest he has been since he arrived in Konoha. “It is beautiful,” he says, proud he hasn’t tripped over his words.

When he is older, and tired, and orphaned and sensei-less, she asks again, her hand running through his hair.

And he doesn’t hesitate when he tells her, not for a second, because she is Kurenai and he is Iruka and his love for her is, at the moment, some of the only love he has left.

***

“What was Uzushio like?”

The Sandaime greets his parents at the gate into Konoha. “Burning,” his mother replied, “Burning like it was hell.”

The Sandaime smoked his pipe, looking at the dirt on their cheeks, the way Iruka hid behind his mother’s leg, and the distinct lack of redness in their hair.

“What can you provide?” he asked, “We can’t take in everyone. We have a village to run.”

“I can fight,” his father answered, quick in his words. He was not as practiced as Iruka’s mother in the language of Konoha due to his birth as Umino instead of Uzumaki, but he had been practicing the basics all throughout their journey.

“We can both fight,” his mother added.

“And the child?” the elders behind the Sandaime asked. 

His mother pushed him behind her legs even more, her hand hard and tight on his shoulder. Iruka suddenly didn’t trust these people, but he promised his parents he would be good when they arrived. 

“He’ll learn,” his mother said, desperate, “It’ll be like he was born here.”

The Sandaime chuckled like he found it funny, smoke blowing out of his nose. “He has great chakra control, can already walk on water,” his mother insisted, her grip on Iruka never loosening.

“Then he’ll make a fine soldier,” the elders said, turning back into the village, the Sandaime following. 

That night, Iruka’s mother cried and cried into his hair, whispering that she was sorry, so sorry, her little boy. He hadn’t understood, but it was the first time in a very long time that he had a home and a bed, despite how small it was, so he let her hold him into the night, and let his parents hold him every night after as the months went by. 

***

“What was Uzushio like?”

Tsunade asks, bottle pouring out sake with perfected ease. Iruka almost bites his tongue, but he stops himself at the last second. He is aware that she is Hokage, a warmonger, a leader of assassins and deadly forces. Someone who will pillage a grave if it will provide her what she wants.

But she is Uzumaki, and Uzushio, in some way, birthed her.

“It had beautiful trees,” he says, carefully choosing what details to give and which to withhold, “Different than in Konoha. They weren’t as wide, and one tree had these white flowers that were beautiful but produced the most bitter fruit.”

Tsunade is deceptively quiet, and a way to get more information out of Iruka. She looks only interested in her drink, her fingers lightly tapping the cool bottle, but Iruka is no longer a fool. He knows she is undoubtedly memorizing every word, waiting to get some sort of secret out of him. Hiruzen was up front about his distrust in a foreigner; Tsunade makes him feel welcome, feel familial, let his guard down.

He wonders when the war in Uzushio will stop. When there will no longer be raids for their secrets, for their resources. He wonders when he will no longer feel like he has to guard his country.

He thinks he will die and take Uzushio’s secrets with him.

“Uzushio was very beautiful. Very good food as well, Hokage-sama,” he says, “But I’m afraid I don’t remember much else.” It reminds him of his conversation with Orochimaru, back when he was a secret his sensei wanted to unravel.

Tsunade glances at him, calculating, and then smiles bright and wide. “It sounds like it was wonderful, Iruka.” Something like guilt gnaws in his stomach, telling him he should be honest with her, with his kin, but another part of him is still full of fear after all these years. He keeps quiet, and when Tsunade dismisses him from his office, he does not look back.

***

“What was Uzushio like?”

Kushina is practically glowing in her pregnancy, her belly large. Iruka had, once again, run into her at the market, and greeted her with a warm smile and quick greeting. He had seen her waddling through the market and offered to carry her groceries back to her house, fondness for the only other Uzumaki filling his chest.

They are on a nearly empty street when she asks, and Iruka doesn’t know what to tell her. She was there, she grew up in their village, she knows what it’s like. But then it clicks- she doesn’t want to know about the village in its life, she wants to know about the village in its death.

So he tells her. 

“It was like a million _santelmo_ came to the village, leaving nothing but fire. The village was raided with _tamawo_ ’s, who turned out to be ninja, and the trees made ash everywhere. There were some small raids before the big massacre, and our shrines were sometimes destroyed, but we always rebuilt those. We were happy for a while, and then we were scared, and then we came here.”

“What happened to the Uzumaki?” she asks after a moment, her hands shaking like they did that night she came for dinner.

“The compound was burned. I don’t know who got out.”

She takes a deep breath, and Iruka stops to wait for her. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her eyes wet.

“Don’t be sorry, _ate_ , you can take as long as you like.”

A sniffle. “I’m sorry about what happened to Uzushio.”

Iruka’s heart clenches. “It’s not your fault. We all lost family. You’re allowed to be upset over this.”

They keep walking, Kushina’s hand tightly holding on to Iruka’s. She fumbles with the key for a second before opening the door, allowing Iruka in so he could put the groceries down. “I wish I could see Uzushio again, even if it’s in ruins. Just one more chance to see home,” she said, her arms folded over her chest as she stared out the window by the fridge.

Iruka suddenly wondered if she was as much a prisoner as he was. “Me, too, _ate._ ” he said, putting some eggs into the refrigerator.

“Maybe one day we can. I’ll take my child with me, and you can bring your parents.”

“I’d like that,” he said, head filled with the idea of travelling back home. “It sounds like a dream.”

“Yeah,” Kushina said, smiling to herself like his _Lola_ used to, “What a lovely dream it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm prob going to continue this! also im working on finishing up the hinata series ive just had a very jam packed semester


End file.
